The Other Reality
by TheLittleOwlChild
Summary: One night Merlin goes to sleep and wakes up at Hogwarts. But the next morning, he is back in his bed in Camelot. Which is the dream? Or are they both a reality? Living as both a manservant in Camelot and a sixth year student at Hogwarts, things become complicated as danger draws near in both worlds, and Merlin struggles to conceal his secret from both old friends and new.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, thank you for clicking on this :) there is an important AN at the end of this chapter.

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"Merlin!" Arthur yelled in frustration.

It was early evening, the dull autumn light flooding through the window half illuminating the scene: A King, stood up from his chair and glaring at a young man crouching by the edge of the table, which held several plates of untouched food.

The manservant hurriedly collected together the jagged shards of clay that had, until that moment, been the King's favourite ornamental bowl.

"Sorry..." he muttered, looking closely at the floor for any more shrapnel. "It was ugly anyway."

Perhaps it wasn't the most sensible thing to say, but the warlock had never been known as one for holding his tongue, and murmured it under his breath anyway.

Blue eyes hardened from annoyance to fury. "What did you say?" The king's tone was dangerous, and Merlin swallowed nervously, having obviously meant for the last part to go unheard.

Arthur strode over, his stance threatening. "That was a wedding gift from Gwenevere, you idiot!"

The boy hissed in a breath through his teeth, staring at the broken pottery pieces in his hands in realisation. It wasn't as if he had_ meant_ to knock the bowl over... "Couldn't you just –"

Arthur glared at his manservant in fury, but the boy wasn't cowered. "Get a new one?" he finished, delicately.

"Get out!"

It had been a normal day in Camelot. No crazy revenge driven sorcerers, no distant lords with sinister intentions, no sign of Morgana. No green apples for breakfast (there currently a mysterious shortage - it was Gwaine's fault, he was sure of it). Though he would never admit it, Merlin wasn't at all regretful he had broken the bowl, not if it meant Arthur sent him away earlier than usual.

It _had_ been a particularly ugly piece of pottery, and he wouldn't be surprised if Gwen had originally bought it for Arthur as a joke. In any case, if she had liked it there was no way the queen would have placed it so close to the edge of the table- knowing full well it was only a matter of days before anything placed on that surface – or any flat surface at waist height – would swiftly find itself having an intimate encounter with the floor.

Gwen wouldn't be angry – would she?

His reflections were interrupted by a distraction in the shape of Sir Gwaine (the notorious apple thief himself) heading toward him wearing wet, mud splattered armour and a rather disgruntled expression. Merlin felt a wave of sympathy.

"Back from training?"

His friend nodded, looking surly. "Leon made me do extra laps."

Merlin couldn't say he was surprised; Gwaine usually turned up to training sessions late, and considerably hung over – if not blind drunk –but the extra laps that Leon had now regularly began to enforce did nothing to lighten the knight's heavy drinking habits.

"Maybe you should try turning up in time tomorrow?"

He'd known it was hopeless before his friend replied. "Not a chance. I'm heading straight to the tavern to drown my sorrows. Care to join me?"

Perhaps it was the smirk on Gwaine's face, or perhaps it was the knowledge (and suspiciously fuzzy memories) of what happened last time he went drinking with the knight. Whichever the reason, Merlin did not feel any way inclined to join his friend. "Not a chance, Gwaine."

Anyway, he was supposed to be careful when drinking – what would happen if he'd had too much, and accidently gave away his secret? Made the chairs levitate for fun, or the tankards do a jig across the table top? It was too horrifying to be considered.

So, ignoring Sir Gwaine's insanely heart-wrenching puppy dog eyes, Merlin headed straight on to his chambers.

He was greeted by the sight of Gaius, standing in the kitchen area and spooning something delicious smelling into two wooden bowls. The boy unwittingly made a sound of appreciation, catching his mentor's attention.

"Merlin! You're back early." In Merlin's opinion, he didn't need to sound so surprised – though he'd admit it wasn't often he was back in time to have his dinner hot. Or have any dinner at all.

He decided it would be for the best if he left out the gory details. "Arthur sent me away." No need to mention the bowl for now. He had no doubt he'd receive a lecture from his mentor – he usually did when he broke things – and tonight, he was just too tired.

A day of chores; fetching meals, cleaning chambers, polishing armour, washing Arthur's dirty undergarments (shudder), mucking out the stables (which wasn't even his job, but his master seemed to enjoy the way Merlin always came back covered in horse dung), drawing a bath of freezing water to _wash off_ the horse dung, not to mention that he had been up at dawn that morning to collect herbs for Gaius's supplies, had left the poor manservant feeling completely exhausted.

Add that to constantly being on the lookout for magical threats, which there had been a suspicious lack of lately. Not wishing to be lulled into a false sense of security, Merlin remained on high alert, reaching out with his magic a couple of times a day in order to sense any disturbance.

With a weary sigh, he plonked himself ungracefully onto the hard wooden bench. No wonder he was dead on his feet! He did the work of three men, one of which was in secret.

Before long a steaming bowl of – was that stew? – had appeared under his nose. Despite the deceivingly good smell, dinner usually looked (and tasted) like Gaius didn't quite know what he was making. Though having tasted some of Gaius's other herbal work – those horrors known as 'medicinal remedies' – Merlin couldn't be anything but grateful.

Gaius took the seat across from him, but didn't attempt to make conversation; seeming to notice Merlin wasn't up to it.

The boy lent over the bowl, only a little hesitant. It did _smell _good, even if the grey tinted, aqueous substance looked a little wasn't sure what the lumpy hunks of meat swimming in a watery juice were exactly, but a lot of the time with Gaius it was better not to ask. He'd never forget that time with the newt legs.

A quick thank you, and Merlin tucked in, head close to the bowl. It was hot, and soothing – if a little squidgy – and the warlock soon found himself relaxing. With each mouthful his head tipped further and further towards the table... he was so _tired_...

The first thing Merlin noticed was the pain. It was both familiar and unfamiliar – there had never been this much of it before. His chest, his back – especially his back – his neck, his shoulder – every inch of him stung and ached. What on earth had happened? Merlin tried to open his eyes but they must have been glued shut for all the good his efforts did.

At first he thought he was dead. The pain, it felt like hell. And the smell of blood, the feel of it running, freely, down his arms and legs and –

"Merlin!" Gaius was shaking him gently by the shoulder.

The boy's eyes flew open with a shudder, and he took in his surroundings. He was sitting at the table in Gaius's quarters; dim lit falling through the single window. His mentor was looking at him with an amused expression, with swiftly morphed into confusion, and then concern.

A glance at his arms showed they were blood free. The pain was gone – but the memory wasn't, and he pressed his hand against his back semi-consciously, feeling the scar where the serket had thrust it's poisonous sting.

"My boy?"

Just a dream.

"Sorry Gaius," Merlin began, batting away his mentor's hands before they could start a prodding inspection. "Just a nightmare."

The old man nodded sympathetically. To his charge, nightmares were nothing new. "Do you want a sleeping draught?"

Merlin considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "Don't worry. Goodnight, Gaius."

He turned and climbed the steps to his chambers, as the old man sat back down, staring deep into his meal but making no attempt to eat.

The warlock didn't sleep well that night. He was tired enough, but every time he started to slip into unconsciousness he would jolt awake again, magic pulsing through his veins as though in response to something, though there was nothing there.

At several points he must have fallen asleep, though only for minutes, or perhaps even seconds. Each time, the consuming pain from his previous dream was back, and he fell back into the world quickly.

* * *

Just a quick word on the cover picture - it's a quick sketch that I did myself (as you can see I'm really not artistically talented), which will be replaced by a version with the tie/lining of the robes in the correct house colour once Merlin has been sorted. I didn't want to give away any spoilers ;)

I'd really like it if people suggested ideas. If you'd like this to be a more Camelot centred/Hogwarts centred (or equally centred) fic then let me know and I'll take it into consideration. If there's anything you'd like to see the characters get up to, PM or review, and I'll see what I can do :)

Annie xx


	2. Chapter 2

***M***

The next day Merlin was even more tired than the last, although that didn't mean he had any less chores. Arthur was still in a very bad mood due to the bowl incident, and seemed determined to get revenge on his manservant no matter how much Gwen protested.

"Come on, _Mer_lin" the king said as he swung as blunted blade towards the warlock. It rebounded of the heavy metal shield with a resounding clang. "Is that the best you can do? Stand straighter, lift the shield a little..." another blow almost forced Merlin to the ground.

Training – AKA, Arthur's excuse to inflict harm on the manservant, under the pretence of 'teaching him valuable life skills'.

It wasn't pretty. By the time they were finished Merlin was sure he must have been covered in bruises. The sun beat down, bright and intense, as Arthur lounged lazily on the grass watching Merlin gather up the training equipment.

Was it really only midday? The warlock thought in despair. He felt ready to sleep for a week, and his head was pounding again. He'd have to ask Gaius for a tonic tonight.

The king went straight to his chambers to wait for his lunch, while Merlin returned the equipment to the armoury. He'd need to come back and clean it at some point this afternoon, but first he needed to get the king his food, or face his master's wrath. There was no threat in Camelot greater than a hungry Arthur.

After a quick visit to the kitchens (where he gathered a small but filling meal for the king, under the old cook's suspicious eye) Merlin headed up to Arthur's chambers, pushing open the door with his side then placing the plates on the table, pretending to be ignorant of his friends glare.

"Don't you ever knock?"

Merlin didn't think that comment was worthy of a reply, but he did give Arthur his signature grin. The king huffed irritably, picking up a bread roll and biting into it.

Taking a quick look around, Merlin realised the room was in need of a thorough clean, and now seemed as good a time as any to start it. Beginning with the dirty clothes, the warlock pulled a face as he picked up a rogue sock and was treated to the delightful aroma of Arthur's feet.

"Something wrong, Merlin?" The king asked mildly, tucking into a lump of cheese.

"No, no..." his manservant muttered, throwing the sock into the pile in the corner before moving to open a window. Best not to put Arthur into an even worse mood by answering that question honestly.

As he continued to tidy – Arthur finished his meal at some point and took to watching him instead, but neither said anything – Merlin's mind wandered back to the dreams he'd had last night. Shivering at the memory, he was tempted to reach a hand to his back and feel the scar that had hurt so much. It hadn't been a phantom pain, like he sometimes experienced in his nightmares. No, this had felt real, as though the injury was fresh.

Arthur was looking at him curiously, so Merlin forced his mind to ponder on something else.

He had almost finished, having dusted and swept (and even brushed down the curtains) while Arthur finished off some paper work at his desk (he has gotten bored of observing his manservant before long), when he felt it.

It was kind of like a pull; or maybe a suggestion. And yes, Merlin agreed, it would be a good idea to go to sleep...

He swayed on his feet.

"Merlin?" his master asked, looking up from his work.

What was he thinking? Of course now wasn't the time to go to sleep! Arthur would tease him, call him lazy and probably set him extra chores. Gaius would tell him off for working too hard and force a vile tasting tonic down his throat. He was tired, but not that _tired_.

And yet, the pull was almost irresistible. He could feel his body relaxing, his mind shutting down as it entered that peaceful state that comes just before you-

"Merlin!"

His legs gave way as the world went black.

***HP***

He awoke dizzy and disorientated, somewhere dark. Pain throbbed in his limbs, pooling in his back. In all his life, he had never felt agony like this before. Teeth clenched against the pain that threatened to pull him back into darkness, Merlin tried to concentrate on his surroundings.

The warlock moaned, pushing his face further into the damp soil. He tried to reach out with his magic to see the threat that had left him in this state, but there was nothing, only a swirling vortex of dim colour and moonlight, tree roots drawing from the weak pulse of magic in the earth.

Time passed oddly as his head spun, and it could have been minutes or hours later when Merlin, nearly delirious with pain, became vaguely aware of a shuffling by his head, and the presence of a magical creature. It was a comforting presence however, as it nuzzled at his head pushing some of its magical energy towards him.

The pain dimmed a little. Not much, but enough for the warlock to hear the sound of heavy footfalls approaching, and a rough voice call "What've yeh found there, eh?"

The footsteps came closer, and there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by mutterings of disbelief.

Something rolled him onto his back. Although it had been gentle, it jostled his injuries and Merlin let out a scream of agony, the earlier reprieve from the pain vanishing in an instant. With a moan, he let it consume him.

***M***

The manservant's eyes flew open, startling Gaius so much that he dropped the cloth he had been holding against his ward's forehead.

"Merlin!" A familiar voice cried.

Merlin looked up to see three very worried faces – Gaius and Gwen on their knees beside him, and Arthur hovering awkwardly behind his wife.

"Um.." he began, looking around only to discover with surprise that he was lying on Arthur's chamber floor. Someone had placed a pillow under his head. "What am I doing down here?"

He was certain that a minute ago he'd been in a forest...

"You fainted. Like a girl." Arthur added the insult to try and cover up his concern, but Merlin heard it anyway and smiled.

He sat up abruptly, startling Gaius once again. "Oh. I feel fine."

That proved to be not such an accurate declaration as Merlin suddenly clutched his head, rubbing thoughtfully at his temple. "Did I hit my head?"

Gaius frowned as Arthur rolled his eyes "No, I had to catch you. You idiot."

Merlin hummed in acknowledgment, feeling a little confused. Then he remembered he'd had a headache before, although it hadn't been _this_ bad.

Maybe that was why he'd passed out (he refused to use the term 'fainted', even in his head – that made him sound far too much like a swooning maiden).

He was about to stand up but Gaius, realising his charge's intentions, put a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don't move." He commanded, feeling his forehead, and then his pulse.

"Gaius couldn't wake you." Gwen explained gently, speaking for the first time as Gaius poked and prodded him greatly more than seemed necessary. "You weren't moving, and we were really worried."

Arthur scoffed at this, but moved to place a comforting hand on his wife's shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Merlin said, ignoring the prat. He was about the reassure them further, when suddenly the urge to sleep returned, stronger than before.

"Um." Was all he managed before tilting backwards.

***HP***

Beyond the pain that gripped his body, intensifying then numbing in succession as his mind drifted, Merlin could hear agonised cries – it was a bit unnerving. And it became even more disturbing when he realised it was his own throat that was making those noises.

"it's alrigh', we're almos' there..." A gruff voice said in an alarmed tone, probably more to himself than to the warlock.

Why was he back here? A moment ago, he had been in Camelot, he was certain – unless he had been dreaming of Camelot? If so, it had been a weird dream...

But if this was a dream, surely he would have woken up by now. It hurt so much, he couldn't stand it. Another violet scream ripped its way through his throat as he shuddered, scrunching his eyes tight against a wave of nausea. It was then that Merlin realised he was rocking. Well not rocking as such, but being rocked – harshly, from side to side it a frantic rhythm. And he could hear quick, heavy footfalls from somewhere beneath him. Being carried then?

The warlock knew he should feel alarm, but at the moment, he just didn't have the energy for it. Someone was murmuring a stream of words that sounded as though they were supposed to be comforting, though Merlin wasn't entirely sure what they were saying. His tired brain gave up once more.

***M***

"Gaius, what's wrong with him?"

Was that Arthur? It sounded like Arthur.

"I'm not sure, sire."

Gosh, his head hurt.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?" he muttered in reply, opening his eyes to find himself in Camelot again. This was getting confusing.

"You lost consciousness again. What happened?"

"I'm not sure." The manservant replied honestly, moving to sit up but being stopped by both his mentor and his king, who had now joined the group kneeling around his head.

He continued under Gaius's glare "I felt really tired."

The physician looked at him questionably. "Do you still?"

Merlin frowned, shaking his head then abruptly stopping as it aggravated the headache, which had gotten even worse mysteriously. He felt wide awake, if a little ill.

"No. I think I have a migraine though."

Gaius nodded. "You're probably overworked. We'll get you to bed, shall we?"

It turned out to be not so much a question as an order, although Merlin protested that he wasn't tired at all. In fact, excluding the ache that throbbed behind his temples and the dull pain from his bruises gained in training that very morning, Merlin felt surprising refreshed, considering the nightmares he had had whilst unconscious.

Gaius had left him in peace to sleep, so Merlin took advantage of the free time and read a little of his magic book, although it was hard to concentrate on the words and none of the headache reducing spells seemed to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for the favourites/follows/comments, they made me really happy :) a guest brought up a very good point – they said it might be difficult us (as both the writer and the reader) to follow two story lines occurring simultaneously.**

**In a couple of chapters we are going to reach a cross road of sorts – I will either continue telling both at the same time (usually in alternate chapters, not switching back and forth as much as I am at the moment), or tell the entire of one side of the story before telling the other. If you could let me know your thoughts on this, it would be great. (An A/N addressed to the guest is at the end of this chapter).**

**Also, sorry if Kilgharrah seems OCC, I'm not quite sure I got him right.**

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***HP***

The first thing Merlin was aware of when he awoke was the softness. Not the dull ache in his limbs or the throbbing at his temples, not the unfamiliar smell of the air or the absence of sound. No, it was the impossible comfort of the thick, quilted cover and squishy pillow on which he appeared to be laying. And the mattress... it was almost as though it wasn't made of straw at all. Had he done an accidental cushioning charm in his sleep? He'd done that once before, but – no, he decided, that couldn't be it. This left only one other explanation - he was no longer in his bed.

Like a crashing wave his other senses kicked in, and the warlock's eyes burst open. He was right – this was definitely not his own. As he lay on his back he could see tall, carved mahogany beams rising up to meet a wooden frame, from which hung scarlet curtains. Cascading in luxurious velvet folds they fell just above the floor.

Merlin frowned in confusion. Where on earth was he? It wasn't Arthur's bed, he knew for certain. But it was so elaborate; surely it could only belong to a king, one of the very noblest. What didn't make sense at all was what _he_ was doing in it, or how he had come to be there in the first place. His heart began to thud faster, and he took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. There was no reason to be scared – if whoever's bed this was had intended harm, then they wouldn't have placed him here.

Had something happened? There was probably a good reason for all of this, he just couldn't remember yet. Perhaps a head injury was to blame; his head certainly hurt enough.

An attempt to move proved worrying; his sluggish limbs didn't want to respond. There was a sort of numbness, detachment. After several failed attempts he eventually managed to lift an arm but it felt almost alien, he realised with a sense of bewilderment. As though it wasn't really his arm, which was a ridiculous thought.

Alright, Merlin decided, trying to keep a firm grasp on his better sense so that he didn't descend into panic. It must have been an injury then. What did he remember?

Pain. Excruciating, unbearable agony as he lay on damp soil, the smell of a forest filling his nostrils... No, that had been a dream. He had woken up, spoken to Gaius.

The ache in his temples flared and Merlin let out an unintentional whimper.

Trying to ignore it, he tried to work out what was the very last thing he'd done. He'd been sitting in his bed, reading his magic book...

Again the pain pulsed inside his skull, more insistent this time.

The boy repressed a groan. He needed to try and work out what was going on, but it felt as though his brain had swollen to press against his skull...

Then the agony began to build. It spread down his neck, to his chest, seeping into his arms and flowing all the way down to his toes until every fibre of his being was aflame.

The suddenness of the attack forced any rational thought from the young warlock's mind and he tried to scream, but it seemed to make no sound.

He could feel himself shaking, limbs seizing with such force he fell from the bed, dragging the edge of the curtain. For a moment, Merlin thought he saw the vague outline of a face – but then it was gone, hidden by a blissful, all consuming darkness as he lost consciousness.

***M***

In his room back in Camelot, the Warlock awake with a gasp. His head ached a little, like in the dream, but that was probably just a result of the nightmare itself. It had seemed so real, so vivid – though now that he was awake it felt like nothing more than a dream. Creepy...

A sudden noise outside his door made Merlin jump, and he watched as it swung slowly on its rusting hinges (which would have made a squeaking sound if not for Merlin's silencing spell. Well, how else was he supposed to sneak out at night to save Camelot without getting caught by his mentor?) , before Gaius peered through the gap.

"Merlin, my boy!" he began, having obviously expected the manservant to be asleep and looking a little ashamed at getting caught. "I'm off to bed now, just checking you were alright. You were being very quiet..."

"Really?" Merlin asked, surprised. Normally when he had nightmares he thrashed all over the place, or his magic went chaotic.

Gaius raised an eyebrow in suspicion, and his charge felt a little offended. Why did he always presume he was up something?

His head hurt still and his neckerchief felt too tight around his neck. With a deft movement he pulled in off, and was about to discard it onto the floor when he stopped, attention caught by the rich red colour of the fabric. Not far off the shade of the curtains in his nightmare.

"Merlin?" Gaius asked, perplexed as to why his ward was staring at a neckerchief – _the_ neckerchief, the one he wore every other day – with such a look of deep thought.

The boy looked up, frowning. "I had a strange dream."

Merlin waited about half an hour for Gaius to go to bed, but after that he couldn't wait any longer. Hoping that Gaius was deeply enough asleep, he slowly shifted the door open, just enough that he could slip through sideways.

It was always a bother navigating the steps from his room in the dark, but the warlock had done it so many times he managed to make it down without knocking anything over (or breaking his neck). Seeing this as a good omen, Merlin quickly made his way across the room, pausing only briefly to glance at Gaius before exiting their chambers.

It seemed a very long walk, his mind full of half formed theories as he stealthily left the castle and then the citadel, feeling extremely impatient. Eventually, he made it to the clearing.

"O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes! Erkheo."

It didn't take long for Kilgharrah to arrive; though the great dragon seemed annoyed to be disturbed when the future of Camelot clearly wasn't in jeopardy (he probably would still have been annoyed if it was).

"Young warlock." He stated in greeting, landing heavily on all four legs with a thump that echoed through the clearing, shaking the surrounding trees.

Merlin stood a little straighter. "Kilgharrah."

"What is you wish to ask?" The great dragon enquired a little wearily, arranging his wings at either side as though to make himself comfortable. The moonlight glinted off his gleaming scales in silvering light, bleaching them pale. It gave him a majestic, imposing air - however Merlin was not intimidated and looked straight into the dragon's vast amber eyes.

"I need your help."

He could have sworn he saw the dragon roll his eyes. When Kilgharrah offered to reply, just waiting patiently for the warlock to continue, Merlin elaborated. "There's something happening to me, and I don't know what it is..."

The dragon frowned.

A few minutes later, after Merlin had explained and the dragon had listen in concern, the warlock found himself sitting on the grass as Kilgharrah felt his magic. He could feel the dark golden strands of Kilgharrah's magical energy prodding at his own. It was an odd, but not obtrusive sensation – after all, the bond between a dragon and dragon lord was that of kin.

It felt like when Gaius performed a medical examination - prodding and poking in a great many places - except Merlin wasn't fighting the urge to squirm.

He closed his eyes, trying to allow the power to mix with his own; strands entwining in a way that felt strangely intimate. At last, the other magic was able to wrap around the source of the problem – a single strand that felt alien, and yet so familiar it was not a wonder he hadn't discovered it himself.

Kilgharrah withdrew.

"Time travel." He stated, simply.

Merlin opened his eyes with a start, staring up at the dragon in bewilderment.

"Time travel, induced by an outside magical source, has been carrying your consciousness to the future when you sleep. Dragging it in some cases, I seems."

The warlock had no reply, his mouth hanging open in a way that would have been comic, if the situation were not so severe.

"Why aren't I disappearing?" he asked eventually, voice faint.

Kilgharrah answered him in a tone which was almost kind (which immediately increased Merlin's anxiety) "It transports your soul, not your body. A very complex piece of magic."

Merlin lifted a hand to his head, stunned. No wonder he'd been getting headaches. Had he been travelling to the past, or the future? Was this going to continue? If so, for how long? And most importantly – "Who could have done this? And why?"

The dragon peered at him closely, glowing eyes filled with a mixture of interest and amusement; and Merlin knew for certain that behind those golden orbs laid the answer.

"That's not something to worry about at this time." He stated, cryptically, then beat his wings and took off into the sky, leaving a very confused warlock behind.

Merlin watched his flight until the great dragon was no more than a small silhouette against the full moon, before heading back towards the citadel with a worn mind full of questions.

* * *

**Dear Guest,**

**Thank you very much for the comment, it was a good point and I hadn't thought of it. Don't worry, your assumptions were all correct (Sherlock would be proud) and I am totally new to this so I do value your advice. I've put a note at the top of this chapter asking people for their opinions, so hopefully I can get a few responses and work from there.**

**I wanted to thank you personally for taking the time to type that all out, and for the useful input :)**

**Annie x**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Chapters are going to be longer from now on; I hope you guys are okay with that. Also I hope you don't mind the name I chose for Merlin, I think it works but I don't think it's been used before :S**

**You might have already worked this out, but ***M*** means we're in the Merlin universe, and ***HP*** means we're in the Harry Potter universe.**

***HP***

The next night Merlin was annoyed, but not surprised, to find himself in the bed again.

He had to admit that as worrying as this all was he did feel a spark of curiosity.. As the post-sleeping fuzziness cleared from his brain Merlin was glad to find that pain he'd experienced last time he'd been here was all but gone. The headache was still there, but definitely manageable.

The first step towards working out _why_ he had been sent somewhere in time would be to work out exactly where he was. From there, he supposed he needed to find out whatever problem needed fixing (because whenever he was called anywhere, it was because there was a problem that needed fixing; be that a magical plague in an outlying village or Arthur struggling to find clean undergarments...).

There was the sound of voices murmuring from outside the curtains (which were surrounding him again) but it was too quiet to work what they were saying. Hoping for a clue, the warlock muttered a spell.

"Melius audituro!"

What had that been? He'd meant to do a hearing enhancing spell, but that had definitely not been right – it sounded as though it wasn't even in magical tongue! And yet, it had come to him just as the language of magic had in Camelot – instinctively, flowing from his lips to create an instruction that he hadn't even known how to phrase.

"Ron, shut up a moment." A female voice whispered.

"Why?"

"I thought I heard something, from that bed over there."

A short silence followed, and Merlin held his breath. Had the strange spell worked?

"Let's hope we didn't wake him, Madame Pomfrey will skin us alive." The boy she was talking to replied.

The warlock frowned in confusion. The language... he understood it. But it was definitely not what they spoke in Camelot. Though now he tried to think of it, he couldn't remember exactly what the language _had_ sounded like in Camelot, or why it felt different. Just that it was.

None of this was helping; with everything he learnt Merlin only became more confused.

Who were these people? Why could they face such horrific punishment for waking him? (he presumed it was him they were referring to – of course, there could be multiple curtained beds with people muttering spells inside in the room where he was, but that seemed unlikely).

"Do you think he's alright?" Another male voice asked, obviously ignoring what the other had said.

Merlin felt a brief moment of gratitude for the kindness, which then abruptly turned to horror as the boy continued.

"Maybe we should get Madame Pomfrey."

Now, Merlin didn't know what a 'Madame Pomfrey' was, but he wasn't eager to meet someone prone to skinning people alive. Especially seeing as people he was eavesdropping on sounded barely out of childhood.

"We could just ask him." The first boy, the one who had spoken so casually of torture, suggested.

"Of course not Ronald!" The high pitched voice hissed in reply. "Don't be ridiculous. We don't know who he is, we don't know who he came from... he could be a Death Eater for all we know –"

What on earth was a 'death eater?'

"- I can't believe Dumbledore hasn't put him on watch..."

The warlock tried not to feel offended. He felt suspicious of them, so he couldn't blame them for being suspicious of him. But he did wonder who this Dumbledore was. Their king, perhaps?

"Hermione..." the second boy replied, in a tone which suggested they had had similar conversations before. "He can't be a death eater. He wouldn't have gotten through the wards, you said so yourself."

"And I saw his left forearm, he doesn't have a mark."

The headache was coming back just trying to work out what the group was saying. They must be friends, he thought – good friends from the way they were interacting. Though all this talk of 'death eaters' and 'marks' wasn't making sense at all, let alone what his left arm had anything to do with it. He glanced down at the limb suspiciously to find it looking the same as it always did, and then felt rather stupid.

At least he knew some names now. Boy one was 'Ronald' or 'Ron' (presumably an abbreviation), and the girl was 'Hermione'. Somehow, knowing their names made these strange people seem less intimidating. Although he didn't know who the second boy was yet.

"When did you see? Yesterday you said you didn't get a proper look?" Came Hermione's enquiring tone, and Merlin concentrated on listening. He had been here yesterday, too? Perhaps Ron was the one who brought him here...?

"That's because I didn't yesterday - it was this morning. He had some kind of fit, kind of like Harry's actually, and fell out of bed. That's why Madame Pomfrey said to be quiet." His voice became lower towards the end, as though realising they were failing that instruction.

That must mean it was Ron who he'd seen, before passing out in this world and returning to Camelot. Camelot, he thought wistfully, where things made sense (except when they were magic) and there was always a logical explanation (usually involving magic) and a solution (magic). That didn't seem to apply here.

"Like mine?" the second boy – Harry, it must be then – muttered, and his friend hurried to qualify.

"I don't think it was you-know-who, mate-"

You-know-who. Well. That really cleared things up.

"-I just meant it looked like it hurt quite a bit."

He was right, there.

Another silence followed. Merlin was eager to know what it was that was wrong with him. He could only presume it had something to do with the soul travel – but how, he wasn't sure. Apparently, there was also something wrong with this Harry child, but Ron didn't think he was in the same situation as Merlin. The warlock felt a momentary pang of disappointment; it would have been nice to know he wasn't alone.

"Do you think he could just be a muggle?" Harry himself whispered, breaking the pause.

"No, Dumbledore seemed certain he had magic."

And just like that, everything around him crumbled.

Magic. They knew about his magic. What were they going to do, drag him back to Camelot in hope of a reward? Execute him themselves? Maybe they wanted to harness his magic, use it in an attack against the citadel.

But wait – he was in the past, or the future. It couldn't be connected to Camelot, could it?

It must involve Camelot. Every magical plan or plot since the purge began had been aimed in the same direction. These may be foreigners – he could tell from their difference in language (that he apparently could now speak) - but every kingdom for miles knew of the magical ban.

He wouldn't let them touch his city. He would die before he'd let them hurt Arthur.

All rational thought flew from his mind, and the hearing spell dropped as the roaring of panic filled his ears. It felt like being underwater. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He was trying but the oxygen seemed to be escaping, as though through multiple invisible puncture wounds in his chest.

A wave of erratic magic burst out and he was vaguely aware of the red curtains ripping and the sound of something smashing.

Then a scream of "Madame Pomfrey!"

And he scrunched his eyes shut. This was it. Before they had only thought he had magic, but now they knew undeniably. The Madame Pomfrey was coming, and she was going to skin him alive.

_I'm so sorry, Arthur._

"You need to open your eyes, dear."

What?

"Don't worry; we're not going to hurt you. Will you open your eyes? "

The voice was calming, but had a ring of authority that Merlin couldn't help but respect. He opened his eyes slowly, breathing heavily, to find a kind looking woman leaning over him with a concerned expression.

She smiled encouragingly. "That's it."

He was still in the bed, but the curtains were gone – it looked as though they had been torn away be an angry giant, lying scattered around the pale stone floor in scarlet shreds.

Then she turned to a group of teenagers, hovering at his right side wearing alarmed expressions. "Miss Granger - get the headmaster. And you, Mr Weasly, what are you doing up? You've been poisoned, get back into bed!"

The redheaded boy reluctantly complied – no doubt responding to the same authority that Merlin had – and the warlock realised that there were lots of empty beds in here, running in two neat lines down each side of the hall. The boy's – Merlin supposed this was either Harry or Ron – was next to his own.

Before Hermione Granger could reach the mahogany double door at the end of the room, however, the fireplace blazed green, and a figure emerged.

"No need." A calm voice stated.

They had used magic, powerful transportation magic by the looks of it, and no one had batted an eyelid.

Merlin watched as an extraordinarily old man in brightly patterned robes approached the bed. This must be Dumbledore.

For a moment, despite how scary the situation was, Merlin felt the urge to laugh. "Madame Pomfrey" had turned out to be a well-cushioned woman with kind eyes and an odd white hat, and "Dumbledore" – who must be the one in charge – appeared to be the most stereotypical sorcerer you could ever meet.

These were clearly not enemies, thank the gods.

"No need to worry," the Madame Pomfrey told him kindly "That's Dumbledore, the headmaster. You're at Hogwarts."

Seeming confused by his blank look, she elaborated. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Oh.

A school of magic?

Although Kilgharrah had said he had time travelled, Merlin couldn't be very far from his own time. The furnishings of this room – the beds, the carved fireplace, the flooring etc – were very similar to the style of Camelot. He hadn't heard of any magical schools, but he supposed it made sense for there to be one somewhere in the world. Perhaps they knew he was Emrys, and wanted some kind of help, or advise.

"Can you tell us your name?"

Maybe not then.

"I'm Mer-" suddenly the old religion gave him a sharp nudge, and he cut off. Why was magic itself warning him against telling these people his name?

"Mer-what?" The kind woman encouraged with a smile, while the 'headmaster' stood and watched solemnly. In the corner of his vision he could see Harry, Ron and Hermione's curious expressions, and it was rather off putting.

He tried to rack his brain for an alternative name, but it was difficult. He supposed he could just make one up, but – oh.

"Mercury."

There had been a little boy whose father Gaius had attended once. Merlin had delivered medicines to their home every day for two weeks, and he had gotten to know the child quite well.

"Isn't that a planet?" The redhead in the bed muttered, and Hermione sighed.

"No Ron, Mercury was the Roman god of travellers. The planet was named _after_ him."

"So it is a planet."

"Well..."

Merlin had known that the boy Mercury had received some grief from the other children for being named after a pagan god (much of the kingdom followed Christianity) - but he hadn't known what that god had represented, and he certainly had never heard of a planet named after him. Perhaps they had different names for the planets here.

Despite not having a clue how he had gotten here or why he was here in the first place, Merlin could feel himself calming just listening to their banter. It reminded him of his conversations with Arthur, and he knew he was safe.

Now that he was in tune with the old religion, he could feel magic surrounding the room. It flowed through the walls and the floor, swirled around the smashed cabinet in the corner (and the puddles of brightly coloured potions that lay in cracked vials on the floor beneath it), and pulsed inside every person. Now that he was properly attuned, he could even pick up a hint of magic on the ripped remains of the curtains.

Just, it was all so _weak_, like highly watered down wine. It wasn't surprising he hadn't felt it before – the magical signature was so reduced, his own powerful magical core barely recognised it as kin.

Talking about magic, it would probably be a good thing to rein his in. They looked alarmed enough already and all he'd done was a rip a bit of fabric - and smash a potions cabinet, he realised. There were potions spilt and spattered all over the floor in one corner, beneath a sturdy looking cabinet that, until very recently must have had glass windows. Merlin felt a pang of guilt, knowing how long a stock like that would take to replace.

"Mercury, my boy?" Dumbledore began, and Merlin was reminded instantly of Gaius. He realised he'd been staring blankly in the direction on the potions cabinet for a few minutes now. He was starting to get a crick in his neck from keeping it lifted, so he let it fall back into the pillow.

The Warlock then realised that actually, sitting up might be a good idea - now that Madame Pomfrey had moved back a bit and her face wasn't quite so uncomfortably close to his own, and he didn't feel as tired and sluggish as he had when he had first awoken.

Merlin tried to push himself up by his arms, as was immediately met by a strong sense of disorientation as he misjudged his weight and the length of his arms, propelling himself forwards and sideways.

Madame Pomfrey caught him with ease, but frowned in concern.

"Um." Merlin offered, feeling very confused. He lifted up an arm, and examined it in alarm.

It definitely hadn't been that short before.

The boy looked up at the Healer with wide eyes as she eased him back against the pillows. "We should let him sleep, headmaster. You can talk with him tomorrow."

Merlin tried to protest but it was no good – before he knew it Madame Pomfrey was tucking him under the covers (to his extreme embarrassment – he was in his twenties!) and muttering a quiet incantation, and before he knew it he was out again.

**A/N: I'm sorry, I meant to include more in that conversation but I've run out of time to write, so it'll have to be included in the chapter after next.**

**Btw, the spell I used was basically just slightly altered Latin for 'hear better' (I know that isn't grammatically ideal but I wanted a short spell with clear purpose), which I used google translate to find (and then changed a bit to make it sound more like a HP spell). Apologies to any horrified Latin speakers.**

**_Next chapter: The Camelot plot begins when a messenger from a distant land arrives, and Merlin has a midnight conversation with Ron._**


End file.
